Page 33 of Booked for Murder

I pointed at the cupboard with my stash of popcorn. “I assume you know how to operate a microwave.”

Beatrice bounced to her feet, rummaged through my cupboard until she located the bags of popcorn, and stuffed one into my microwave, pressing the popcorn button. “I do love when the microwave removes most of the guesswork.”

I did, too. I’d managed life better than most adepts when I’d made the jump to my low rank; my parents had enjoyed some luxuries, but I’d grown up in a household where we’d done everything for ourselves, so I’d entered service aware of how to use a stove despite never using them while in Bradley’s employ. “I don’t think anyone in that prissy family has used a stove in their life. Honestly, the only reason they have a kitchen is so their staff can cook for them.”

“Mr. Hampton has some basic education in cooking,” Ren announced.

I twisted around and pointed my cane at him. “Don’t you lie to me. He does not have any cooking education. I’ve witnessed him ruin a stupidly expensive pot burning water. He told me not to help him.”

“He dislikes failure, so he decided he would learn. He has destroyed a remarkable number of pots, but he wisely purchased cheaper pots and pans until he stopped wrecking them attempting to cook. As he is rather inept at cooking, this still proved to be an expensive endeavor.”

The bathroom door opened, and a pale, tired Bradley emerged. “I hate myself so much right now.”

I bet he did. As he had one foot in the grave and might pass out on my floor otherwise, I limped out of the kitchen and pointed at my bedroom. “If you’re going to sleep, sleep there. I don’t want to have to step over you.”

Bradley staggered into my bedroom, and I grimaced at the thump a moment later. Afraid of the answer, I asked, “Did he even make it to my bed?”

Grinning, Ren checked, and a moment later, he shook his head. “Almost.”

“That is not a normal reaction to milk, Ren. What’s wrong with him?”

“The milk just finished him off. He’s used his talent to his limits the past few days. I’ve been waiting for this to happen, truth be told. He’ll be fine with some rest. Let me get him off the floor. A moment, please.” Ren stepped into my bedroom, and a few minutes later, he returned with Bradley’s suit jacket draped over his arm. “My apologies. I was hoping he would have managed until this evening, but it seems that is not the case.”

I returned to the kitchen to finish making the rice, which I’d likely turn into a soup after my unexpected guest regained coherency. “Well, since our informant is sleeping on the job, I guess you’ll just have to sit down and start talking, Ren. What isn’t Bradley telling us, why does he want his own private investigator cell to solve this murder, and what’s really at stake here?”

Ren took a seat on my couch, tossing Bradley’s jacket over the back. “Senator Godrin was in process of sponsoring a bill that would eradicate the current magical aptitude system entirely. The bill would replace the current system with mandatory yearly testing starting at age ten, allowing the talented to be identified. Employers would be required to pay all testing fees, and they would be required to test all new employees, and they would need to do a yearly testing for changes in aptitude.”

The current testing system stressed out most people, especially as rating directly influenced pay. “You think someone killed him over this bill?”

“Mr. Hampton believes so. There are a lot of people who are against the bill, as it would set some severe restrictions for those of certain ratings.”

I could make a few guesses. “Like mine.”

“You would have a set pay rate, limited options, and very little recourse. The bill is designed to give adepts more power, turn pure mundanes into trophies for adepts, ultimately eradicate pure mundanes and low rated people, and control everyone else. The murders have all involved senators and politicians supporting this bill. Worse, there are a lot of people who recognize the dangers the bill poses, so many adepts are supportive of the diminished odds of the bill passing. However, there’s another issue.”

“There’s always a however. No matter how grim a situation seems to be, there’s always a however lurking around the corner to make it worse,” I complained.

“Mr. Hampton has reason to believe that the culprit has even worse intentions, and getting rid of the supporters of the original bill will open the way for a worse bill to be brought to the table.”

“How could it get worse than that?” I blurted.

“A bill to force sterilization of any individuals who do not meet minimum thresholds.”

Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. “Sterilization? Like chemical castration?”

“No. The last rumors I heard would invoke mandatory military service for anyone without the appropriate rank, and sterilization would occur during combat.”

Murder. Legalized murder through a draft—and if a draft would be a possibility, that meant a war brewed on the horizon, one the American people didn’t know about. Yet.

Shit.

“Please tell me you mean that the government would give the lower rated individuals more dangerous jobs,” I muttered.

The alternative disgusted me—and would make me do more than exsanguinate someone for the fun of it. I’d take vigilante justice to extremes.

“If I told you that, I would be lying to you. Mr. Hampton has made it rather clear you get upset when people lie to you.”

That counted as an understatement. “You’re saying the government would be deliberately murdering our own people in combat situations to hide the killings.”